Road To Acceptance, chapter 1

The teenage brunette looked at her middle-aged father slumped in the chair, passed out from drinking too much alcohol in front of the blaring television. The girl sighed and went over to the coffee table to pick up the empty cans of beer, lager, and cider. Placing the tin cans into the trash can, she looked around her home. Cigarette butts occupied the floor, the walls were damp, there was no love in this home anymore, and it showed. She left her father to sleep off the alcohol in the chair.

Entering her bedroom, the girl flicked on the light then closed the door behind her. All around the room were photographs of her friends, the only "family" she wanted or needed. Photos of her band playing shows, photos around school and of random people and places. She despised her father, her mother was nowhere to be seen. She had abandoned this child a month after she was born. The girl's cell phone began to ring and vibrate from her pocket.

"Hello?" the girl answered quietly, holding the phone to her ear.

"Marcie?" came a female voice. "I was just phoning to see if you got home ok."

"Yes, Brittany, I got home ok, look, you know not to call me at this time of night. I'll talk to you at school tomorrow, ok?" Even before her friend, Brittany, got to answer, Marcie snapped her cell phone shut and threw it onto her bed.

"Maricella!" came a bellow; Marcie turned to face the door. "Maricella!"

Maricella walked out of her bedroom into the living room where her father was barely standing from being drunk. The man's body was wavering from the amount of intoxication he was no doubt suffering from. Maricella, affectionately known as Marcie, slowly straightened her spine, the black hoodie she was wearing creased up at the shoulders. Marcie's father, Billy, stumbled over to Marcie and peered at his daughter.

"Maricella...where's my beer?" Billy asked.

"You drank it all Dad...I checked the cans before I threw them away, they were all empty," Marcie answered; her father's expression changed into one of anger.

"Maricella," he said sternly, "don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying!" Marcie snapped. As soon as the last syllable passed through her lips, she instantly regretted it.

Billy's expression changed once again and brought his fist to his daughter's face. Marcie flinched and went to hold her face to dull the sting around her cheekbone, but Billy grabbed her wrist and again hit her in the face. By holding Marcie's wrist, Billy was open to beat his child mercilessly. This punching action was repeated several, maybe hundreds, of times. Marcie's head began to throb with stabbing pains and felt as though her father was still striking her head with his fist. Billy finally released his daughter's wrist, letting her fall to the floor with a dull thud. Marcie's vision was slightly blurred from the great deal of impact dealt to her head.

Marcie lay still on the wooden flooring in no physical state to nurse her aching head. She could barely move, her body felt too weak. Her body was laying open to a kicking to her abdomen and legs. Billy's leg sprang to his daughter's sides, stomach, and upper torso. Billy's leg became heavy and forceful against Marcie's torso, each kick bringing a new sensation of pain and tears to Marcie's eyes. Marcie became winded, unable to breathe properly, and her ribs were possibly severely bruised, adding to the problem.

Once Billy was left feeling satisfied with the beating he'd delivered to his daughter, he exited the house. Marcie heaved herself off of the floorboards and wavered for a moment on her feet, trying to get her bearings. She staggered back into her bedroom and once again closed the door behind her. Taking off her black hooded sweatshirt and white vest, she examined her body in the full length mirror.

Maricella was an attractive teenage girl. Her hair was short and of a natural brunette, a dark brunette at that. Her eyes were as blue as a sapphire, piercing and dark; they were normally outlined with thick black eyeliner and mascara. In this instance, black streaks ran their way down Marcie's perfect, olive complexion. Her frame was slender, but still there were curves around her hips and bust. She had a body most girls would desire, but she hated it herself. She felt that she could be a bit fitter, but really she didn't care what people thought of her or of the way she looked. Her skin was plagued with bruises, old and new, but most of them fresh from the merciless assaults dealt to her in previous years.

Maricella unhooked her black bra from her body, leaving her bare chest exposed for a moment until she put her pyjama shirt on. Once the clothing on her bottom half had been removed, Maricella pulled on her pyjama bottoms, flicked off the light, placed her cell phone on the floor, then crawled into her bed and stared into darkness, silently weeping to herself from the pain from her abuse. Then, finally, at two o'clock that morning she fell into a light sleep plagued with nightmares about being abused again.

The next morning Marcie awoke early. She sat up in her bed, pulled the blanket off of her body, swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress. Rising from the bed, she stretched her now vertical frame. Lowering her arms, Marcie sauntered out of her haven into the bathroom where she would strip off and shower.

After fifteen minutes of showering, Marcie returned to her bedroom, only bearing a towel. Her short, brown hair was frizzy from being towel dried slightly. She picked up her silver hairdryer and blow dried her hair until it was fluffy. Upon pulling some clothes out of her drawers and wardrobe, Marcie removed the towel and began dressing.

Marcie trudged unwillingly through the halls of her Alexandria high school toward her home room. Most of her classmates would stare at the outfit she was wearing and make some sarcastic remark. Marcie would reply with a simple, but effective "Bite me, loser".

Marcie walked into her home room wearing tight black hipsters, a black corset, and a long sleeved white blouse. On her feet were black, leather boots. Marcie walked to the back of the room, pulled out a chair, then sat down, placing both of her feet on the table in front of her. She pulled a mirror out of her messenger bag and inspected her make-up, hoping to have covered all of the visible marks on her face.

Just as Marcie was closing the mirror, her best friend Brittany, otherwise known as Blue, walked into the room. Marcie was quick to put the mirror back into her pin ridden bag before Brittany would notice. The red-headed Brittany sat on the chair next to her best friend and looked at her suspiciously.

"He did it again, didn't he?" Brittany asked, meaning Marcie's father. "Marcie, this is why you have to come to California with me and the others."

"Blue, if it were that easy to just leave home, then I'd be the first one on that plane out of here. You should know that by now," Marcie replied.

"Then don't tell him you're leaving... " Brittany suggested with a cheeky smile on her face.

"Can we just drop this!?" Marcie snapped, "I'm sorry, but right now my father is the last thing on my mind," Marcie said, then fell silent.

The previous morning, Marcie had received an acceptance letter from a college in the sate of California. For any other person that would be great, but for Marcie it was a decision she'd have to take into great consideration. She couldn't just leave her father, as much as she wanted to. Brittany was desperate for her friend to escape the life that she was forced to forever lead. Marcie knew her friend was concerned for her, but there were bigger circumstances for the seventeen year old. As much as she despised Billy, she couldn't just up and go. Billy was her father after all, her flesh and blood.

During lunch period that very same day, Marcie was sitting in one of the art rooms, sketching a black and white image of a child crying tears of blood that was engraved deeply inside her memory. She also had one of her iPod earphones lodged into her ear. Unlike most people of the "punk rock" label, she didn't always listen to heavy punk rock music. At that moment she was listening to an acapella version of H.I.M's "Join Me in Death". The pencil was held lightly between Marcie's thumb, index, and middle fingers on her right hand. A quiet, scratching noise was made as the grey lead of the pencil glided across the white paper.

Amongst the silence outside of Marcie's head, the art room door opened. Brittany and two other girls put their heads in the door and looked around. Spotting Marcie, they all stepped into the room.

Marcie looked up and saw the three girls looking at her. She turned her iPod off, pulled the earphone out of her ear whilst winding up the wire, and put it all into her messenger bag. Whilst she was doing this, a raven-haired girl walked over to the table and looked at Marcie's drawing.

"You should go to art school man," the girl said, handing Marcie her drawing, then went off to kick the table leg lightly with her Converse shoe.

"Thanks," Marcie replied. "You guys know I can't just up and leave right now... What are you guys doing here anyway?" Marcie asked suspiciously

"We have nothing on for the rest of the day, and we know that you ain't either, so it's time for band practice at mine," a blonde girl said with a hint of a Kentucky accent.

Marcie smiled. "Eileen, I could have almost read your mind...but wait, isn't Yas' bass still busted?"

The black-haired girl looked up from her shoe and the table leg at the mention of her name. "Ah-nah!" she reassured. "I stayed up last night fixing it, then I had to retune the bastard."

Since Marcie was the only one that passed Driver's Ed without destroying the car completely, like Blue had done, she got the privilege of driving. Blue still blames the wasp influencing her to drive into a ditch, like a little devil on her shoulder. Everyone piled into Marcie's red Cadillac and went off to gather instruments for band practice. Once everyone had their instruments, Marcie was told to drive to Eileen's place where band practice usually happened.

Whilst everyone was setting up in Eileen's garage, Marcie was sitting in the corner of the room on a bean bag with her acoustic guitar. She started plucking a few strings with the black plectrum she had in her hand, which eventually turned into the melody of Norah Jones' "Don't Know Why". Marcie began to softly hum the words until eventually her raspy, gravely voice began to flow. Eileen sat behind her drum kit, picked up a pair of sticks, and tapped the hi-hat. Yas started plucking a random bass line, and Brittany put a soft tremolo over the top of everyone else.

When five thirty came around, Marcie had to get home, so she put her acoustic guitar into the back of her car and drove off. When she reached "home", Marcie put her guitar and bag in her bedroom. When she came out, her father was waiting for her holding a letter...the same letter from California.

"I found this in the drawer...you were going to tell me when?" Billy asked with a hint of boiling rage in his voice.

Marcie gulped before answering, "I don't even know if I'm going yet, Dad," she replied.

"Oh, you're going alright," he said, then ran his eyes over the letter. "You've been accepted... " he said and walked over to Marcie, before Marcie even knew what was going on, she had a punch delivered to her face. "Just like your fucking mother! You're abandoning me for someone in California!"

Marcie looked up at her father, "My mom's in California?" she asked. Billy had never mentioned her mother before, and all she knew was that she gave her the name Marciella.

"Yes...living with that...Armstrong...Adrienne was mine! Then he had to steal her from me!" Billy said, full of hurt; that hurt turned to rage as Billy picked up a glass bottle and launched it at Marcie.

Marcie saw the bottle fly towards her, and she ran to her room, closing and locking the door. She pressured her body weight against the door as Billy began to pound his fists against it. Tears flowed freely, bleeding mascara down Marcie's cheeks. Her feet dug into the carpeted floor desperate to keep the door closed from her abusive father. Keeping him locked away from her sanctuary. Soon the pounding stopped, and a scraping was made on the door.

"You want to find Adrienne Nesser, then go ahead...you're not out of this house by the time I'm back, then I'll kill you...then your precious mother won't be able to have you," Billy said, then stormed out of the house.

Marcie slid down the door to sit on the floor, and cried into her hands. She then remembered what her father said...Adrienne Nesser, her mother, was in California, Brittany wanted Marcie to go to California, and a place at art school in California was waiting for her. What was keeping her in Minnesota? Nothing.